


Midas, Oh Blessed King

by GlitchHologram



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe, Animal Death, Gen, Inspired by Midas and the Golden Touch (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24821578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitchHologram/pseuds/GlitchHologram
Summary: Philosopher's Stones pull the life force from their surroundings and into their energy stockpile. For a Living Philosopher's Stones such as Hohenheim, there are consequences.A tale in which Edward has inherited his Father's touch.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	Midas, Oh Blessed King

"It's not fair!" Ed bellowed, stamping his feet for emphasis. "No one else has to!"  
"I know, honey," his mom sighed as she gently gathered him in her arms, and planted a firm kiss to his brow. "But you're special. Just like your Daddy. I don't want you to get hurt."  
"I won't! I'm strong!" He cried out, trying to wiggle from her arms.  
"I know you are. My strong boy. But sometimes, hurting others… it makes you hurt too. Inside your heart." As Ed stopped wiggling, Trisha carefully pulled a small pair of gloves from her apron. Then gently held his thin wrist in her hand and slid the soft white glove onto it. Minding ever so carefully to avoid touching his palms.  
"I know how big your heart is. You're too young; I couldn't bear to see you hurt.  
You're strong, and clever, and quick, and I love you so much," she punctuated each praise by pressing a kiss to his face with a wet smack. Then pulled on his second glove tenderly as he began to sniffle. She looked deep into his watery eyes with a heavy gravity, "but you are young. And with youth comes thoughlessness, carelessness, recklessness… It's easy to make a mistake and hurt someone without even trying. But they're hurt all the same. You need to practice wearing your gloves, so you don't have an accident. Do you understand?"  
Ed looked back into her eyes. Oh! That boy. His eyes shone with a golden intensity, soaking in the sun itself. What a beautiful child, so very like his father.  
He blinked back his tears. Steadied himself and nodded. "Yes, mommy. I understand."  
"Good" she replied, planting one more firm kiss upon his golden head. She hugged him tight. "Oh, you are my special boy. Now! Go out and play with your brother!"  
"Okay, Mom!" He smiled back, before racing out the door.  
Trisha looked after him with a sigh and a fond smile. 

***** 

Edward raced into the woods as fast as he could, releasing the tears he had so carefully held at bay for Mom.  
He hated this! Hated, hated, hated!  
The seams of the gloves pressed against his fingers, constantly grating at the edge of his senses. He couldn't think wearing these stupid gloves!  
He ran harder, vision swimming with water. He huffed for air, gulping past his sobs.  
And his hands were too hot! And everything felt too soft and dim! And he wasn't allowed to squish his fingers in the mud and play bakers or castles like everyone else. And! And! And!  
With a lurch, Edward found himself face down on the ground. His already swimming vision tunneled black with pain. He threw his hand up to his nose - but that only hurt worse! He looked down; his glove was ruined with blood. He could feel it dripping sticky and hot from his throbbing nose. He moaned in pain and fear, then cut himself off. It hurt to make noise. To move his face.  
Gingerly, he tried to pull himself up. Only for a stabbing pain to shoot up his leg. It hurt so bad!  
Tears trickled down his cheeks. He couldn't even cry proper anymore - it hurt his nose to much to scrunch up his face.  
Ed slowly rolled himself onto his side. Then upright, so he could lean against a tree. 

What should he do? 

He couldn't walk home… not with his throbbing ankle.  
Maybe he could sleep it off? Whenever he had a tummy ache or was cranky, he always took a nap and felt better.  
And Ed really didn't want to move right now. 

Carefully, the boy lowered himself back to the ground. He laid on his side, rested his hand in the crook of his arm, and let the world fade to quiet black. 

***** 

Ed woke slowly and unpleasantly. Something was wrong. His leg throbbed and pulsed with pain at the slightest movement. He was damp and cold. His leg felt wrong? And his face was itchy and sticky and gross. He frowned. A blinding pain shot across his face.  
Instantly! He awoke with a jerk. Shuddering with pain and confusion as the fog of rest lifted from his mind. 

Sleep… had not made things better. He looked down at his ankle. It'd swollen up larger than his fist and turned a horrible purplish red.  
Gingerly, he tried to point his toes. No! It hurt! He could not move his ankle at all without a burst of pain. 

Next, he carefully touched his soiled glove up to his tender nose. When he pressed his finger against it, he was overwhelmed with the pain once more. 'At least it's done bleeding' e thought. It didn't make him feel better, though. 

Ed sat. And thought. The sun was going down. He shivered again. Did his Mom know where he'd gone? He ran so far… Would she find him?  
He didn't want to be alone all night in the woods. His stomach clenched. In fear? No… he'd missed dinner, by now. 'I don't want to be hungry, too!' 

Ed… had an idea. 

Mom wouldn't like it. 

Mom wasn't here. Would she ever find him? It hurt…  
Carefully, Ed lifted his hands. The small metal snap was too strong to remove with his other gloved hand. But if he got the fabric between his teeth and yanked-  
His nose was hot with pain, but the snap was undone. 

He nipped the seam of his glove's fingertip between his teeth, and slowly wiggled it loose. Then the next, then the next. Until it was easy to grab the loose fabric with his other hand and wiggle himself free from the glove. 

The cool air was shocking on his skin, at first. But quickly came to feel soothing. He could feel the breeze on his palm. It was so gentle, so subtle, that it almost overwhelmed him.  
For a moment, he didn't feel anything but the cool breeze whispering across his palm. 

He put his hands on the ground and carefully pressed himself up. The grass was wet with dew; thick and dense.  
He couldn't ignore the squirming feeling under his palm.  
He took a moment to collect himself then glanced down. 

Where his hand had pressed against the grass was now a patch of dirt. Dark and loamy, like the compost patch in the garden. 

He shuddered, and tried not to think about it. Instead, he looked at his ankle… it didn't look any better. Or feel better, really. 

Of course a handful grass wouldn't be enough. 

In a pique of frustration, he rubbed his exposed palm over all the grass on his right side. It felt gross. Feeling the grass bubble and squirm and become brittle under his hand, until nothing remained but dirt. 

It was dead. 

Of course it was. That's why momma - he cut his thought off. Looked down at his ankle. It didn't look any different… but the pain was better? He flexed once more. Nope! Not better! At least not much. 

Should he touch the tree? It was much larger. But he also needed it to sit upright. He'd have to move firt, and what if it wasn't enought. 

Ed closed his eyes and lay there for a second, breathing slow. Letting his panic drain away.  
He felt something.  
Keeping carefully still, he cracked his eyes open. A rabbit.  
It was nibbling grass around his left side, just inches from his still-gloved hand.  
Could he? 

Quickly, he snatched it by the fur of it's neck. It panicked and struggled, but his grip was strong. 

If it has a heart attack - then it's for nothing - he needed to - 

He screwed his eyes shut and pressed his exposed hand against it's smooth side. It squeaked, wiggled, screamed, squirmed. He could feel it. He could feel it bloating and bursting and dripping into the lap of his pants even as it still twitched and tried to kick away from him. Even with his nose swollen and clogged with his own blood, he could smell the heavy scent of rot. 

He pressed his eyes shut further and sobbed. Sobbed as the movement stopped, as he felt hard bones under his fingers, and even that give away. Nothing left but the residue of decomposition. He retched. It didn't hurt. He retched again. 

"I'm sorry" he gasped. "I didn't mean - I had to - I'm sorry." 

He cried long and hard, with a vigor he hadn't felt since his fall. He looked down on himself. His shirt was soaked with blood, his gloves dirty past repair, his pants covered in a foul grime… 

His ankle was perfect. Gently, he flexed his toes. And flexed again. Wiggled them. Moved them side to side. No pain. His ankle was all healed up. No trace of injury left. 

He lifted his hand to his nose. Flinching as his hand touched his own face. But no, no pain there either. Just the sticky crust of old blood and the stench of decay as his hand neared his nose. 

He quickly yanked it back down, scrubbing it furiously against the slightly-clean side of his pants. 

He felt around blindly, trying to ignore the squirm of the dying grass. Found his glove and pulled it back on with an eagerness he'd never before felt. He fumbled with the clasp. But it wouldn't stay. He couldn't press hard enough to lock it in. He couldn't - 

Deep breath. In, one two three. Out, one two three. Again. In. Out. In. Out. 

His heart slowed. 

It was okay, the glove was on. He didn't need the clasp. 

Carefully, Ed got to his feet. He felt fantastic. He felt sick. 

He pushed down his rising nausea. Turned towards home. And began the walk back on two sturdy feet. 

He couldn't stay here, crying in the woods. Mom would worry. 

He took another step.

**Author's Note:**

> Typed out 3am on mobile. Apologies for errors; will revise tomorrow. 
> 
> In case it wasn't obvious, the premise is this:  
> Because he is a Philosopher's stone, any living thing Hohenheim touches with the palm of his his hand has it's soul & life force absorbed into his stone.  
> This is the same for Edward. Because his father is a literal living philosophers stone, he is too, in a sense. A single, one-soul Philosopher's Stone.  
> So while Hohenheim auto-heals whenever he's injured, Edward only heals when he has +1 to his soul. If Ed is responsible and hasn't been decaying things with his hands, he's as vulnerable to injury as anyone. But if he does absorb life force, then he'll have a stockpile of soul energy he can tap into to heal his wounds (and more).  
> Of course, larger animals have more life force than small game, and plant life even less so.  
> So there's the good ol FMA dilemma of morally acceptable use of the stone's power. 
> 
> I have a follow up chapter planned, for the immediate aftermath. Plus plans for future arcs. (How this affect Edward's view of his automail, what of Alphonse, comparing & contrasting living stones like Ed and his father VS the artificial humans; the homunculi)  
> Planning for most of the fic to take place during the military days. Looking forward to getting past the baby talk period. 
> 
> This a baby plotbunny, so if you're interested to see it grow into a proper fic, I'd love to read your kind words in a review!  
> Comments feed the soul of the author!
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read :)


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